


Death Doesn't Discriminate

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batkids Age Reversal, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Duke Thomas is Signal, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Robin, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Prompt: Punctured, Protective Tim Drake, Reverse Robins AU, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, Tim Drake is Joker Jr., Tim Drake is Red Hood, Whumptober 2020, and after he died and was resurrected, it's a whole thing okay, or at least he was, this is after that whole debacle, tim saves jason because he's not about to let another robin die like he did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim doesn’t stop to think, not for one second as he abandons his stakeout and makes for downtown. If he were to let himself consider the options, he’s fairly certain he would spiral into a cyclone hedefinitelycan’t afford to dwell in now. Don’t think. Don’t think about Robin, about Batman, about dirty buildings with concrete floors covered in a Robin’s blood. Just act.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948297
Comments: 18
Kudos: 400





	Death Doesn't Discriminate

**Author's Note:**

> Whump Day 13 Alternative Prompt: "Punctured"
> 
> Part of my Reverse Robins AU! Title is from "Wait For It" from Hamilton.

Tim doesn’t hack into the family’s frequency every night. Just...sometimes. Most times. A lot of the time. But make no mistake, it’s not because he  _ cares.  _ And not because he has intentions to sabotage, either. He just...does it. He doesn’t ask himself why—doesn’t stop to consider the potential consequences.    
  
Tim does a lot of things without thinking them through nowadays. It’s one of the many reasons he has to believe that Tim Drake died when his heart stopped, and the person controlling his body now is something entirely different.   
  
He doesn’t garner much from the hacking, aside from the same mundane instructions to meet here and warnings of a crime scene there. The bats are just as Tim left them: bland and swimming in shadows, not that he’s surprised. In fact, it must be a general rule for the only source of sunshine in Batman’s life to be his Robin. (And Duke, on occasion, but he’s always been more of a morning bird, which defeats the purpose of having a partner to battle the night.)   
  
Tim is sitting on a rooftop, idly carving hatches into a wooden crate while he stakes out one of Gotham’s slimier crime syndicates. That’s when he hears the telltale ping of Robin’s distress beacon, just for a second, so quick he could disregard it as a mistake. An accidental press of the button. It sends a chill down his spine anyway; Bruce apparently hasn’t changed his tech since Tim’s Robin days. Tim can still remember the same desperate sound of his own distress signal before Joker crushed the communicator with his shoe. It’s burned into his brain like a brand.   
  
He shakes out of the memory.    
  
_ Think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Assess.  _   
  
Robin sent out a distress beacon, purposefully or not. It was a blip, but it was there. Upon further hacking, Tim finds that it’s coming from downtown, directly where Tim’s already heard commotion of a collapsed building from his police scanner earlier.   
  
Who else is out tonight? It’s Thursday, if Tim is remembering correctly, though he so rarely does these days. Only Bruce and Robin are patrolling Gotham now. Cass is on a mission in Hong Kong this week, and Damian runs with the Titans more often than he’s ever in Gotham. It will take Batman over twenty-five minutes to get there from his current position.   
  
_ Assess.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Decide. _   
  
Tim doesn’t stop to think, not for one second as he abandons his stakeout and makes for downtown. If he were to let himself consider the options, he’s fairly certain he would spiral into a cyclone he  _ definitely  _ can’t afford to dwell in now. Don’t think. Don’t think about Robin, about Batman, about dirty buildings with concrete floors covered in a Robin’s blood. Just act.   
  
He arrives in record time, comes to discover mobs of firemen and bystanders on the pavement outside. No sign of Batman. If Jason needed his distress beacon instead of just signaling one of the first responders to help him out, he must be trapped somewhere they can’t hear him.    
  
_ Think later. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Act now. _   
  
Tim enters the building from a window on the side, bypassing all of the emergency personnel entirely. He’s goddamned lucky his helmet filters out the smoke or he’d be too sunken into memories of charred flesh and electrical scars to move. He follows Robin’s signal, careful not to dislodge any rubble in the process. The fire is extinguished by now, the only lingering danger being the building’s questionable stability.   
  
He eventually finds the kid lying on the ground, pinned by a support beam across his chest. That explains what happened to his signal—the transmitter must have gotten crushed before anyone but Tim could hear it. Tim and Bruce’s new Robin haven’t talked much, admittedly, aside from that little incident when Tim attacked him at Titans Tower. Water under the bridge.    
  
Jason stops struggling when he hears the footsteps. “Batman?” He cranes his neck to see, eyes widening under his mask when he finds someone else entirely. “Hood. What are you—”   
  
“Shut up.” Tim can’t afford distractions now. It’s all he can do as it is to keep his head straight, to keep from plunging into the waters. He pulls off his helmet despite the smoke in the air, if only to give himself space to breathe. He still has a domino in place, so he should be good. “Are you hurt?”   
  
Jason doesn’t look any less wary than he was ten seconds ago, especially now that he has a full view of the scars carved into Tim’s face. It takes him a moment to answer. “I...I don’t think so, but that could be from the adrenaline. It’s kind of hard to breathe. Did Bruce send you?”   
  
“No.” Tim gets right to work freeing Jason. He lifts the beam off his chest, making Jason let out a gasp as his chest expands freely once again. “Damn it.” Now that Jason isn’t being crushed anymore, Tim can see the piece of rusty metal piercing through the kid’s abdomen, just below his ribcage. There’s no telling how deep it is.   
  
A problem, yes, but one they can hopefully fix so long as it stays where it is, staunching the bleeding. Tim’s job is to get Jason out of here; the others can handle it from there. Tim crouches to pick Jason up, only for the kid to let out a strangled cry as soon as he’s moved.   
  
Tim freezes, his pulse skittering. “What is it?”   
  
“It’s— _ fuck.  _ There’s something...” Jason lifts a hand to the puncture wound, hissing. “The metal. It’s connected to something. I’m—I can’t move.”   
  
_ Don’t think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Don’t think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Don’t… _   
  
Tim doesn’t know what to do. Damn it. He has no idea how to get Jason out of this. If he leaves him here, the kid will definitely die, but he’ll bleed out if Tim tries to take out the metal. He might get an infection and die even if they do everything right. He’s screwed either way.   
  
Without warning, a giggle slips between Tim’s lips. He slaps a hand over his mouth, tries to suppress the panicked laughter that he can’t control no matter how hard he tries. Jason looks horrified, and Tim can’t even tell him that everything is going to be okay. None of this is okay. _  
_ _  
_ _ Breathe. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Be a detective. Figure out what to do. Do it. _   
  
The laughter stops as suddenly as it began. “Where’s your radio?”   
  
“In my belt. Second pocket on the right.”   
  
Tim finds it easily and doesn’t even stop to consider the magnitude of what he’s doing before he turns it on. “Red Hood to the bats, somebody had better fucking come in.”   
  
_ “Tim?”  _ Bruce says, sounding shocked for once.  _ “You’re—why do you have Robin’s communicator?” _   
  
“I didn’t hurt him.”   
  
_ “I never said you did.” _   
  
“Robin needs help. If you were paying attention to your fucking comms, you’d already know that. He’s got an impalement injury to the chest and the damn thing is connected to the floor. Get somebody over here  _ now.” _   
  
There’s a pause that Tim can’t begin to decipher, then:  _ “I’m sending Signal ahead. Keep us updated.” _   
  
Tim throws the communicator aside and sits back, ignoring the way his hands shake. Jason is taking deep breaths, an exercise that Tim remembers from his own time with the bat. He’s trying to keep himself calm, trying to keep his head clear. Tim wishes he had that ability; it would make things a hell of a lot easier.   
  
Jason wriggles the smallest amount, inhaling sharply at the pain. “I can’t feel what it’s attached to. Might be a pipe.” His breaths are raspy, his words coming in short gasps. Fuck. “This place isn’t stable. That’s—that’s why I was here. Wanted to make sure everyone was evacuated.”   
  
Tim clenches and unclenches his hands, focuses on the motion to keep the Lazarus green splotches at the edges of his vision from creeping in any further. “Okay.”   
  
“You should get out of here. Before it—before it crushes us.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Hood—”   
  
_ “No.  _ I’m not letting another Robin die. That’s not how this goes. Just...shut up for a minute.” He closes his eyes. “I need to think.” A hit-or-miss strategy, really. Thinking is dangerous. Thinking means risking the voices in his head coming out to play. It means risking his resolve loosening altogether, sweeping him away and turning him into something else.   
  
Jason laughs weakly. “What’s there to think about? It’s a Catch-22. Leave me here and I die. Move me and I die a little faster. I’m a goner either way.”   
  
Jesus, has the kid always been this morbid? Or is that just a side effect of coming in place after the dead Robin?    
  
_ Think.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Decide. _ _  
_ _  
_ Tim can’t let another Robin die. Not Jason. Not anyone. “Okay,” he says, finally, opening his eyes.   
  
“Okay?”   
  
“I’m getting you out of here.”   
  
“I’ll bleed out.”   
  
“It’s better odds than leaving you here to die.”   
  
Jason doesn’t have an answer to that. Even if he did, Tim doesn’t care. He needs to get the kid out of here. He gets one arm behind Jason’s shoulder blades, the other under his knees. He needs to pick him up swiftly and run as fast as he can. That’s the only way this will work.   
  
“This is going to hurt,” he warns. Jason nods. Tim lifts. The kid smothers a scream behind his lips, strangled and growing in volume with every shift. Tim tries his best to ignore it.    
  
_ Don’t think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Get him out. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Just do this one thing, then you can freak out after. _   
  
He manages to wrench Jason free from the pipe with a wet sound that Tim is never going to be able to get out of his head for as long as he lives. Blood soaks Jason’s tunic at a dizzying rate, turning the red fabric black. It drenches Tim’s shirt too, and it takes everything he has not to let the memories claim him. He needs to keep his cool, for Jason. For Robin.   
  
Tim runs as fast as he can, dodging piles of rubble and keeping his head bent low over the kid to keep any debris from falling on him.   
  
_ Get out. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Don’t think. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Just get him out. _   
  
“Getting...dizzy,” Jason mutters. Tim says nothing.    
  
It takes both forever and no time at all for him to get that first whiff of clean, smokeless air. Duke is there waiting at the exit and Tim all but dumps Jason into his arms. “Stab wound. He’s bleeding a lot from both sides. You gotta—you have to stop the bleeding.” Why is Tim shaking all of a sudden?   
  
Duke places Jason on a stretcher, where he’s swarmed by EMTs. “Hood,” he says, looking back at Tim, “are you—”   
  
“Help Robin. Don’t let him die.”    
  
Tim stumbles away without waiting for a response, his lungs feeling like they’re about to burst despite the clean oxygen around him. Shivers wrack his body, the aftershocks hitting in full force after so long tamping them down, burying them deep enough to pretend they didn’t exist for a little while, waiting to take over.   
  
Tim leans against a street post, utterly impassive to the commotion surrounding him. Giggles spill from his mouth like bubbles in a fizzy drink. They’re impossible to stop once they’ve started, he’s learned by now. Just ride it out. He bites down on his knuckle until it draws blood, laughing and laughing even though it feels like he can’t breathe. What he wouldn’t give to just draw in a  _ breath. _   
  
After what could be one minute, could be ten minutes, a voice breaks through the drone of sirens. “Tim?”    
  
Tim jumps, spinning around. He fumbles instinctively for his gun, choking down laughter, but his fingers tremble too severely to hold it. It clatters to the ground, the sound cracking through Tim’s consciousness. Duke stands a safe distance away, keeping his hands where Tim can see them. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”   
  
Tim lets out another giggle, followed by a gasp. There might be tears soaking into his mask. It’s hard to tell. “I’m—I can’t—” He doubles over, laughing into the crook of his elbow until he’s  _ sure  _ his lungs are going to explode.    
  
Duke doesn’t move, just watches. Waits. Until, little by little, the laughter starts to fade. Tim’s lungs start working again. It takes several more minutes of the unbearable laughter before Tim slumps against the street post, shivering with residual giggles. “Is—is Robin okay?” he gets out.   
  
“It didn’t hit any major organs,” Duke says. “The paramedics are with him now, but he should be fine with a blood transfusion and some antibiotics. How about you?”   
  
“I didn’t hurt him. He was like that when I got there.”   
  
“I know. Jason told me everything. You did good, Tim.”    
  
The praise settles in like an old sweater, alleviating some of the fog threatening to drag Tim back over the edge. Just like the old days, before insanity and resurrection took their toll on Tim’s psyche. Back when he was a Robin, had a family, had older brothers to look out for him when he needed it. Older brothers who failed when he needed them most.    
  
Tim is a chewed dog bone now. A smashed fruitcake. A crowbar with one too many dents.    
  
“He’s asking for you,” Duke says. “You saved his life.”   
  
“It wasn’t personal.”   
  
“That doesn’t change anything.” Duke’s fingers twitch like he wants to come closer, but he keeps that respectful distance. Always good at reading cues, that one. “You can come home with us, you know. He’ll want to thank you in person.”   
  
“You know why I can’t do that.”   
  
“Why not? Everyone will be happy to see you.”   
  
“Yeah, sure they will.” Tim goes to walk away, but Duke grabs his arm. Tim pulls away like he’s been burned.  _ “Don’t  _ touch me.”   
  
“Bruce misses you.”   
  
“Missing someone and tolerating their crimes are too different things. Do you really think he’s going to start trusting me, just because I rescued his precious kid?”   
  
“I do. I’ve always trusted you, Tim.”   
  
“I didn’t do it because I like him. I didn’t do it for you, or even for Bruce.” Tim swallows down the lump in his throat. “I just didn’t want another Robin to be left for dead like I was. Think about  _ that  _ the next time Bruce says he misses me.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


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